Flight
by thatmeddlingkid
Summary: All about the history of aviation, from the Wright brothers to the moon landing and everything in between. Mostly centered around America but will include other nations as well. Will span across different genres and ratings.
1. Chapter 1

Late one evening, after a hard day's work in Jamestown, Virginia, England was telling his young colony a bedtime story.

"The peasants begged St. George to slay the dragon, for it was ravishing their kingdom and eating their maidens," England recited from memory.

"But England," America interrupted, "Why couldn't the peasants fight the dragon by themselves?"

"Because, America," England explained patiently, "dragons are very hard to fight. They have thick scales that can't be pierced and they fly high in the sky, farther than we can reach."

"Then you can just shoot them, right? Like how you shoot turkeys and people?"

England turned pink. "Well, they didn't have guns at the time of the story."

America looked confused. "Then what did they have? Bows and arrows?"

"Well, they had swords." It suddenly occurred to England that America had never seen a sword before.[1]

"Oh. So why didn't they just fight with the swords in the air?" America asked, stumbling over the new word.

"How are they going to do that, silly? People don't have wings like birds and dragons. We can't fly," England chuckled.

"People don't have fins like fish, but you still came here all the way across the sea from your house," America pointed out.

England was taken aback by the young colony's unexpected logic. "That's different," he sputtered, "We couldn't swim all that way, so we made ships. That's how we managed to travel by sea."

"Then that's how we do it!" America's bright eyes gleamed with excitement. "We make a ship that flies through the air!"

England smiled. "Sorry, America," he said, "But we've already tried that before and…"

"Really?" America perked up even more.

"Well, yes," England admitted, " China tried to use rockets a while back and Italy had a man who designed a sort of hovering device, but they never led anywhere.[2] So we've learned to accept the fact that it can't be done."

"Oh," America said disappointedly. He deflated for a moment before adopting a determined look on his face. "England, _we're_ going to make it happen. We are going to make a ship that flies."

"What is this _we_ you're talking about? Because I'm certainly not going to spend my time making a ship that flies!"

"Well if you're not going to help me, then I'll do it myself. Or I'll ask France for help."

England rolled his eyes. "Why do you even want to fly? We can go everywhere we need to go with ships and carts."

"Nu-uh!'

England raised his eyebrows.

"We can't go there." America pointed out the window.

"What? To the moon?"

America nodded.

"Of course we can't go to the moon! That's just ridiculous!"

"If we make a ship that flies we can!"

"Okay, America," England replied, shaking his head, "If you want to make a flying ship to travel to the moon you can."

"I will then!"

"Alright, but you're going to have to start designing another day because it's bedtime."

"Aren't you going to finish the story?"

"I suppose so," England said with mock exasperation, "Now where was I? Ah, yes. So St. George promised to slay the dragon and save the kingdom…"

Later, after America had fallen asleep, England went over the conversation in his head. _What a bizarre little boy, _England thought. _I'm sure he'll forget about the whole thing tomorrow. _

But America never did.

**Author's note: **

**[1] I added this just because I realized that guns were invented before the English colonized North America. **

**[2] The Chinese **_**did**_** try to fly with rockets strapped to chairs. And I bet you can guess which Italian inventor/painter/ninja turtle I'm referencing here.**

**This story will be about America's involvement in aviation. Each chapter will relate to an important or interesting moment in aviation history. As stated before, the chapters will involve America, but I may change the point of view to another character as I did in this introduction. If you have a certain historical event that you think I should write a chapter about, leave it in the comments. I hope those of you reading this will continue to follow my story or at least comment.**


	2. Chapter 2

_1905_

Canada stepped off the exit platform of the train station looking very annoyed. Just a few days earlier, he had been relaxing in his home in Ottawa, free from the stress that usually concerned him. That is, until he received a call from his twin brother begging him to come down to visit. Normally, if he really did not want to go, Canada would simply tell America that he was busy. However, this time, America seemed especially excited and insisted that Canada arrived as soon as possible. When it became apparent that America was not going to take no for an answer, Canada grudgingly packed his bags.

Before Canada had time to look around for his boisterous brother, with whom he had agreed to meet at the station, the American had rushed over, nearly knocking the Canadian down.

"Canada!" America shouted, "I'm so glad you're here! I was afraid you weren't going to show up because it was so last minute…"

"Yeah, well you're lucky I was in Ontario instead of say, B.C. otherwise I would have never made it all the way to Ohio in time for…wait, what are we doing in some hick town in Ohio anyway?" America had refused to tell Canada the reason for the trip over the phone.

"Hey!" America objected, "Dayton is _not_ some hick town! And we're here because I have something to show you. Here, follow me and we'll walk and talk." America grabbed one of Canada's bags and started down the road.

"Wait, we have to _walk_?" Canada complained.

"C'mon! It's not that far, and when you see it, it'll be totally worth it."

"You still haven't told me what _it_ is."

"Oh, yeah! Well, you know how a few years ago that guy from Germany's house made an airship?"

"Yeah…"

"Well some guys here made one too!"

"You dragged me all the way down here for a _zeppelin?"_

"Well, no, not exactly. You see, they didn't really make an airship, at least, not like that. It's… smaller and you can steer it more. Oh, and it doesn't have a gas bag. Instead it has wings, like a bird."

"What? How does that work? Do you have to flap them?"

"No, you don't flap them. And it has something to do with gliding on air currents, but it's kind of hard to explain."

"Are you sure these men are for real. Like, you don't think this is all just a hoax?"

"No, I don't. I've been working with these guys during my free time for a couple of years now, and I've seen them fly with my own eyes. They can really do it. You just have to see for yourself. Speaking of which, we're here."

America stopped in the middle of the road and faced towards an empty field.

"Uh, there's nothing there," Canada said dumbly.

"Oh yeah, it's over this hill," America replied. "Follow me."

He started walking straight through the tall grass. Canada followed with a sigh. Soon they approached a small shack with only three walls. A balding man in his late-thirties was walking out of the building.

"Hey, Wilbur!" America greeted, waving at the man, "He's here!"

"Oh, so he is," the man, Wilbur, said. He turned back around into the building. "Orville, come on out! They're back!" Another man, also in his thirties but with a rather magnificent moustache[1], exited the shack.

America set down the bag and placed his hand on Canada's shoulder, gently pushing his brother forward. "I would like you to meet my friends Wilbur and Orville Wright. Wilbur and Orville, this is my dear brother, the Great White North, also known as Canada."

Canada blushed at the dramatic introduction while the Wright brothers eagerly shook his hand and spouted about what an honor it was to meet him. America beamed in the background. "Yeah," he said, "They didn't believe me at first, and I had to take some, uh, _extreme_ measures to prove it. Let's just say I got a stern talking to from Teddy [2]," America chuckled as the Wright brothers paled. "Anyway, do ya'll mind showing us the flyer?"

"Of course not, come on into the hangar," Wilbur said as he gestured towards the building. Everyone walked inside, and Canada laid his eyes on one of the strangest contraptions he had ever seen. It was made out of wood and canvas and vaguely cross shaped, with what looked like a fuel tank and propeller in the middle. Canada wondered if this bizarre machine was what America called 'the flyer.' It sure didn't look like it could fly.

"Isn't it wonderful?" America asked, too busy admiring the mechanism to listen to the answer.

Canada was still confused. "Um, how does it work?"

America smiled at the Wrights. "Why don't we show you?"

About an hour later, the two sets of brothers had moved the flyer out of the hangar and set it up on what the Wrights had described as a catapult.

"We don't have a way to take off on our own yet," explained Orville, "So we use this to start the flyer."

Wilbur was being strapped in the flyer by America. After everything was declared safe, the catapult was pulled and the flyer, with Wilbur on it, was launched into the air. Canada was sure that the whole contraption would fall, but to his surprise, Wilbur and the flyer soared through the air.

"Oh my god!" Canada exclaimed in total disbelief. "I didn't think it was possible."

"I know, right?" America replied, "It's amazing, isn't it? You should have seen it the first time. Wilbur was in the air for almost forty minutes."

"That's how long you can stay up there?"

"At least, but we're working on lengthening that."

The North American brothers stood for almost thirty minutes watching the flyer. America was beaming with pride while Canada could barely believe his eyes. At last, however, Wilbur landed and both brothers were broken from their trance.

The nations helped the Wright brothers return the plane back to the hangar and everyone walked to the house America had been renting nearby. They discussed plans for the flyer over dinner.

"So Canada here wanted to know exactly how the flyer works," America said before taking a bite of chicken, "I figured you guys would be able to explain it better than I can."

"Are you insinuating that you played no part in designing the flyer?" asked Orville good-naturedly, "because we all know that simply isn't true."

America blushed. "Come on, I didn't do _that_ much."

"You know," said Canada thoughtfully, "I don't think I even _want _to know how it works anymore. I think knowing would kind of… I don't know… ruin the mystery. Or take away the magic. Or… something. You understand what I mean?"

America nodded his head. "Yeah, I do. Some people don't need to see the details to be amazed. And that's okay, but some people like to work behind the scenes and get involved. We like to figure out how things work and learn how to do new things. And that's another thing I wanted to announce to you, Canada. Orville and Wilbur are planning on establishing a flight school."

Canada looked at the brothers, clearly impressed. "So you two are going to teach people how to fly?"

The Wrights nodded eagerly. "And one of our first students will be your brother."

America smiled. "It's true! I'm going to learn how to fly, Canada!"

Canada couldn't help but notice the look of sheer joy on his twin's face.

Later that night, the Wrights had left and America and Canada were left alone in the house. The two nations sat in comfortable silence, pondering the day and all that had become of it.

Suddenly America spoke. "You know, this whole thing, about flying, it's really great, you know?"

"Yeah, it is," replied Canada.

"I mean, now that we can fly, we can go anywhere. There's nothing to stop us anymore. We can be free."

Canada looked at America. He had a distant expression on his face and his blue eyes were gazing at something that only he could see. "Did I ever tell you about the time I told England that I wanted to build a ship that flied."

Canada shook his head.

"He told me it was impossible."

Canada rolled his eyes. That sounded an awful lot like something his cynical caretaker would say.

"He said that we already tried it a few times and it didn't work so we should give up and accept the fact that it was never going to happen." America's expression hardened slightly. "I didn't want to give up, though. I wanted to prove that we could do something that we thought was impossible and show everyone that we can do anything."

"So you reached your goal then," Canada confirmed.

"Yeah," America said with a slight smile, "I guess I did. At least, I reached one of them."

Before Canada had time to ask what he meant by that, America stood up and announced his going to bed. Canada was left to wonder alone.

**Authors note:**

**[1]Seriously, check out that moustache, it is wonderful.**

**[2] Teddy Roosevelt, the American president at the time.**

**I didn't mean for America to get so broody there at the end when I started writing this chapter. If you didn't like it don't worry! Not all of the chapter will be like that. If you did like it, there **_**will**_** be at last a few more chapters like that. Once again, if you have any historical events that you think would be nice to see in this story, post them in the comments!**


	3. Chapter 3

Friday, May 20, 1927

The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky a vivid magenta. A young man in an aviator suit stood in front of a small monoplane. Written on the plane's side were the words "Spirit of St. Louis". Currently, a team of mechanics were prepping the plane while the young man was being crowded by journalists.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lindbergh," one reporter shouted," How prepared are you for this flight?"

"Um, about as prepared as I can be," stammered the man. He blinked as a camera flash momentarily blinded him.

"Mr. Lindbergh, how will you be challenged physically?" another reporter asked holding her notepad and pen ready.

"Uh, well there's no bathroom on the plane," the man shrugged.

"Mr. Lindbergh!" a third reporter nearly screamed as she climbed over another in an effort to get closer, "how do you feel about the possibility of potentially crashing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?"

"I, uh, I've never really..."

"Excuse me!"

Everyone quieted and looked towards the speaker. He wore a mechanic uniform and rectangular glasses. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and was young, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. But despite his age, something about him demanded the utmost respect. The crowd opened up and he walked calmly to the first man, Lindbergh.

"The _Spirit of St. Louis _is now ready for Mr. Lindbergh. But before he takes off, you should all take the time to appreciate him for what he is doing for this country."

Lindbergh smiled sheepishly and blushed as the man pat him on the back.

"This is a moment that will go down in history. Charles Lindbergh, an American like me and you, will be known as the first man to be in New York on one day, and France on the next. We should feel honored that he has chosen to represent our great nation in this way. And now, on behalf of everyone here, as well as every American, no, every person on this earth, I wish you, sir, the best of luck!"

The crowd cheered while Charles blushed even harder. The bespectacled young man smiled at him and moved in closer. "Charles," he said quietly, "when you get to Paris, can you do me a favor?"

"Of course Mr. America," Charles said, nodding his head eagerly, "Anything for you, sir."

"Thanks. Okay so what I need you to do is, well, when you get to Paris, there will be two men there, men like me. You know, nations? One of them has long, wavy blonde hair and is usually wearing pretty flashy clothes, if any at all. That's France. And the other one has kind of spiky blond hair and really bushy eyebrows and he's usually frowning. That one's England."

Charles was excited at the prospect of meeting other nations. So far he had only met Mr. America and America's friend Mexico while training in Texas.

"Anyway," America continued, "when you meet them, can you give England this message from me?" America pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his jumpsuit and handed it to the young aviator.

"Tell it to him out loud, but please don't read it until you get there. Oh, and make sure he knows it's from me."

"Yes, sir. I promise I will," Charles assured him, "And it has been an honor working with you."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it. And the honor's all mine. Now let's get this baby into the air. Did you pack a lunch?"

"I've got a sandwich and some coffee."

"Good. But don't drink too much of that coffee. Remember, there are no bathrooms on the plane."

MWMWMWMWMWMW

Saturday, May 21,1927

England and France stood on the edge of the large crowd, eagerly trying to catch a glimpse of the man climbing out of the monoplane. This required a great amount of effort, however, because they were competing against nearly 150,000 Parisians. It took about a half hour for the excitement to end and Charles Lindbergh to make his way towards the unexplainaby noticeable nations.

"Excuse me," he said panting, "You're England and France, correct?"

"Oui," France said, nodding.

"Oh, good. And it's a pleasure to meet you both. So, uh, Mr. England, I have a message for you from Mr. America."

"Oh, how interesting," France replied looking at England, "Amérique has a special message for our dear Angleterre. Whatever could it be?"

England rolled his eyes. "So what is it?" he demanded impatiently.

"Oh, yeah."

Charles scrambled to pull out the piece of paper. He squinted to read America's handwriting then snorted as he tried suppressing a laugh.

"Suck it, Limey."

Everything was silent for a moment, until...

"Ohonhonhonhonhon!" France doubled over with laughter. England looked as if he would explode with anger. Charles coughed and mention something about having to pee before running off.

"Ohonhonhon," France was rolling on the ground now. "You thought it would be something nice and poetic! Ohonhon! You should see your face right now!"

England scowled even harder. "It's not funny!" he shouted.

Years later, England would still not admit that it was funny. If you got him drunk enough, however, he _would_ admit that deep down, he was proud of America.

**Author's note:**

**Charles Lindbergh was not the first pilot to cross the Atlantic, however he was the first to travel to Paris from New York and he's pretty well known in American history. The flight took about 33 and a half hours and Lindbergh was stuck in a tiny cockpit. And this was back before autopilot existed, so I think he deserves a lot of respect. Also, he was partially trained in my home city of San Antonio, Texas! I decided to use that in the story because I thought it was neat. I also figured that America would want to show off to Mexico.**

**Once again, if you have any suggestions for new chapters, leave them in the comments!**


	4. Chapter 4

When the U.S. was created, it was based upon the idea of freedom. Freedom for everyone, no matter who they were. Anyone had the chance to be happy, regardless of race, religion, gender, of wealth. America always held on to this, even when the vast majority of his people did not. And when his people forgot what their country stood for, he made it his duty to remind them. There were times when his efforts were in vain. No amount of pleading on his part would stop Jackson from sending thousands of Native Americans to their death. It took an attempted secession and a bloody, self-decimating war to end slavery. If any human had experienced everything that America had, they would wonder how he managed to live, let alone continue to uphold his values. The truth was, America got through it by ignoring the troubles of his past. All of his memories of darkness and sorrow were pushed into the back of his mind or stowed away inside of his storage room. This method of forgetting his problems was not always the healthiest way of dealing with life, but America did it nonetheless. But America was not only a Nation, he was an optimist. He never gave up and he always looked towards the successes of his people before anything else. He was a frontrunner in his people's strive for equality and nothing made him more happy than to know that everyone had the freedom that they deserved.

In the years following his aviation training, flying became America's favorite thing to do, and he would be damned if anyone in his country would be banned from partaking in what he believed to be the most amazing experience known to man. He shook hands with the Tuskegee Airmen and worked with Jacqueline Cochran. After meeting a group of paraplegic pilots in California, he convinced the other Nations to help him establish the International Wheelchair Aviators group. For a many years, nearly all of America's free time went into aviation. It was through this involvement that America was introduced to a human who went on to become one of his closest friends.

Amelia Earheart was clever, funny, brave, and almost everything America wanted to see in another person. She, like America, refused to allow things such as race and gender hinder her life, and he admired her for it. As she dominated the media and became a national symbol of women pilots, America's enamoration with her increased. . They worked together on nearly all of her planned flights and he was alway the first to congratulate her on her success. America honestly believed that she was perfect, and could do no wrong.

In 1937, everything America thought he knew about Amelia Earheart came crashing down. She was on her way to a remote island in the Pacific in an effort to fly around the world. She never arrived. America panicked. He made dozens of calls and sent out a search party in a desperate attempt to find her. They searched for two years putting all available resources towards finding the aviatrix before declaring her dead. America didn't like giving up. It made him feel helpless in a way that he hadn't felt since his days as a colony. For once, he couldn't look on the bright side.

America took his brother to the funeral. This was Canada's first clue that things were not going well. It wasn't uncommon for countries to mourn their human friends, but they normally dealt with it privately. Canada also noticed America's unusual silence, and how he frequently got lost in thought. Whenever Canada pressed America to open up, he would brush him off. Soon, the northern nation decided that he would have to bring in the big guns.

AVAVAVAVAVAVAVAVA

_*All dialogue is in French_

1939

"France, please," Canada pleaded, "He's not himself. You're the only one who can talk to him."

"What business of mine is it to comfort America because one of his citizens died. We all have to learn how to move on from these things, no matter how much it hurts," France replied, trailing off a bit at the last part.

"Yeah, I know, "Canada said, "but she didn't just die, she disappeared, and he looked and looked, and... well, he's not doing well."

"Wait a minute, she? This is about a lady? Why didn't you say so sooner? This is now a matter of love, and as the country of love, it is now my personal duty to help America mend his broken heart. I must hurry off!" France threw his best clothes into a suitcase.

"Do not warry, Canada! Big brother France has got it all under control! Also, that Quebecois shit that you call French is terrible. Goodbye!" France stormed out of his house leaving a bewildered, but slightly relieved Canada in his midst.

AVAVAVAVAVAVAVAVAVA

America was sitting quietly in his living room when he heard a knock on the door. Not really caring who it would be, he opened it. France waltzed in and set down his suitcase before hurrying into the kitchen. America slowly followed him.

"I heard you were having a hard time dealing with your loss," France said, rummaging through America's pantry.

"How did you know that?" America grumbled.

"My god!" France exclaimed, ignoring the question, " Do you have anything besides condiments in here?"

"I've got eggs in the icebox," America answered. France took out the carton as well as a bowl and frying pan. He cracked several eggs into the bowl and began whisking them before turning towards America, who was sitting at the kitchen table.

"I understand what you are going through, " he said with a sad smile, "It is hard for people like us to form relationships with people like them. Trust me, I know. Can you tell me what she was like."

"God, where do I begin." America smiled. "Amelia Earheart was amazing. She was so smart and brave. She never took crap from anyone. She was a role model for all of the little kids in my place. She was everything I stand for..."

"Did you love her?" France asked abruptly.

"What? No! Of course not. I mean, she was married..."

"That does not matter," France laughed," The heart wants what the heart wants. Now I am going to ask you again, did you love her?"

"Uh, god, I don't know!" America rubbed the back of his neck. "I think, maybe."

France poured the eggs into the pan. "America, do you want to know what I think."

After a moment's hesitation, America nodded his head.

"I think that you are wrong."

America was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think that you actually loved her."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm sure she was a very nice lady, and I'm sure that you were friends with her, but I don't think you loved her. I think you loved the _idea_ of her."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"The way you talk about her, the way you say her full name and go on about her like she was the embodiment of your beliefs, that makes me think that you built her up to be something greater than she was. Like I said before, I'm sure that she was smart and brave and a good role model, but I don't think that she was everything you stand for. You forget, the humans are not like us. They do not represent values and beliefs. They can support them, but they are not them. And, most importantly, humans die." France finished the omelette, cut it in half, and gave one to America as he sat down. Both nations wiped tears from their eyes.

"It is one of the hardest things about being who we are," France continued, "We are not the same as the humans that we bond with."

"Well you know what," America said with sudden anger, "That sucks! It fucking sucks! I didn't ask for this, and neither did you! Nobody did! Why do we have to live in a world where everyone dies but us and we have to sit back and watch it all happen and do nothing about it!"

"Yes, I agree," France replied calmly, "It does suck. It's awful, and nobody knows why it's like this, but it is and we can't change that."

America sighed and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. But I wish it was different sometimes. I wish _we_ were different."

"So do I," France admitted, "but the best part about it is that even though humans like your Amelia or my Jeanne cannot live to pass on their message, we can. You said that this woman was everything that you stood for, but you were wrong. _You_ are everything that _she_ stood for. If you really care about her, you would take this duty seriously."

"Did you think of that just now?" America asked with a sheepish smile.

"No," France said with a small chuckle, "That is something I have been thinking about for a long time."

"Well, it's really nice. Thank you."

"I am glad you think so. Now where is the nearest market? If I'm going to spend some time here, I need to be able to cook some decent food."

"Wait, how long are you staying?"

"No more than a week. I have to make sure you heart is completely mended so you can fight in case another war breaks out. Now tell me where I can buy groceries."

"What? We talked about this, I'm not going to get involved again."

"Fine. If you will not tell me, I will find it myself." France strutted to the front door. "By the way, that Creole shit that you call French is even worse than Canada's. Goodbye!" He flipped open the door and rushed out.

America shook his head before smiling. For the first time in a long while he felt hopeful. And it was nice.

**Author's note:**

**History time! For when you parents say that fanfiction is not educational.**

**First off, I made a reference to the Trail of Tears in which thousands of Native Americans were forced to move west by president Andrew Jackson, a mean, scary man who probably liked to kick puppies. I also mentioned the American Civil War between the pro-slavery south and the anti-slavery north.**

**The Tuskegee Airmen were a group of WW2-era African-American pilots. Jacqueline Cochran was an influential lady pilot, and the IWA is exactly what it says on the can.**

**Word of god says that France refuses to learn English, so Canada and America have to resort to their Quebecois and Cajun roots respectively in order to communicate. The trouble is, both versions are kinda wonky, so both are ridiculed by France. (If you asked me though, I would say that he picked up enough English to know when England is being made fun of.)**

**I hope you are enjoying it so far! Please comment!**


	5. Chapter 5

The first time America ever killed someone he was six years old. Granted, that was in Nation years, which were sporadic and confusing, so America was actually much older than that, but when it came to his maturity level, he was on par with a small child. He did not kill the man to be evil. He didn't really have a choice. But then again, the man really didn't either.

It was the young colony's first winter alone since before he was taken in by England who had recently been called back to his European island. America and the colonists were not faring well at all. Nobody knew how to farm or hunt, and as the nights got colder, the people became more and more hungry and sick. America could remember a time when only three men were healthy enough to bury the dead. People were so hungry that they resorted to eating cats, dogs, and rats. For one man, the hunger became so unbearable that he did the unthinkable: he was caught cooking and eating his pregnant wife. Despite the growing desperation of the colonists, this was one act that could not go unpunished.

The man screamed and begged for forgiveness as the colonists built the large pile of debris. He cried as they tied him to the post. By the time they lit the torch, he was silent. America watched with morbid fascination, unable to take his eyes off of the shaking figure. Once the pier was ready, the tiny colony was handed the torch. Everyone had agreed that it was to be his responsibility to enact the first act of justice in the new land. America cried and refused but the colonists insisted, and, when it came down to it, forced him. With tears rolling down his cheeks, America stepped up to the trembling man. The man looked up, his frightened eyes meeting with the colony's watery blue ones. America turned his head away, then lit the fire.

AVAVAVAVAVAVA

There was not one Nation that enjoyed killing. They all had to at some point in their long bloody lives, but they did not find solace in it. Taking away life, whether it be that of a human or another Nation, pained them as much as a much as a regular person. However, Nations were stronger than most, and they could survive the pinning of thousands of murders before they cracked. Some _did_ crack. Their sanity slipped away as they witnessed the cruelty of man. The other Nations saw those who were no longer completely sane and they vowed never to end up like them. Each had different methods of avoiding the pain that came with mindless killing. America used planes.

It was much harder for him before they were used. The worst was the Civil War, which, in America's opinion, had no right to be called "civil". There was nothing about any war that was civil. But, as the leaders of the countries continued to say, war was necessary. No amount of reasoning from the Nations could convince them. According to the leaders, simply existing as a potentially immortal superbeing for hundreds of years gave them no credibility. So the wars, as awful as they were, went on.

The second World War, and the one remembered by all as the worst in history, was one that America tried to remain uninvolved in. After the first great war, he saw the new weapons the humans had created to kill each other and it scared him. He did not want his people to be blown apart by bombs and gunned down by machine fire, but most of all, he did not want to be the one delivering the bombs and shooting the guns. And so, for a long time, he did remain directly uninvolved, only providing help to the allies through indirect trading agreements. When Japan attacked however, America had no choice but to enter the war. As angry as he was at Japan, who up until then he considered a friend, America was not looking forward to marching into battle and facing those he intended to kill. This is why he jumped at the chance to join the Air Force.

When America was in the air, he didn't have to watch his enemies die. He could pretend that there was nobody else in the planes he shot down, and that the levers he pulled did not release bombs on hundreds of people. This indirect way of fulfilling his duty as a Nation allowed him to push all of his bad thoughts to the back of his head. He could forget that everything he did was wrong because he didn't have to look into the frightened eyes of his victims. This level of forced ignorance satisfied him for the duration of his time in the Air Force. At least, until Hiroshima.

He should have known beforehand. That's what America told himself. He knew that this bomb was going to be bigger than the others. After all, they spent months dropping those leaflets all over Japan telling the people to surrender or evacuate. They had never actually _warned_ an enemy about their plans before. But at the time, it was nothing more than another part of his job that America would rather not think about.

But it was _not_ like the others, not at all. The earth shaking BOOM and subsequent flash of light jolted America as he flew the plane out of range. He looked over his shoulder and felt his heart drop at the sight of the colossal mushroom cloud. All of the anger he had felt for Japan in the last few years quickly melted into panic.

_Dear God, _he thought, _what have I done?_

There was no ignoring his actions anymore. America could no longer deny the awful truth that he had since before pushed into the dark recesses of his mind. Suddenly, another thought occurred to him: this was only the first bomb. America felt the need to find Japan and beg him to end the war, but he knew that there was no way for him to get to him in time. He could only hope that the older Nation would reconsider his stance.

AVAVAVAVAVAVAVAVA

Meanwhile, Japan was sifting through the rubble of what was once a bustling city. At first, the aftermath of the booming light was eerily quiet, but now, screams and sobs rang through the air. The bodies that were not immediately vaporized by the blast now lay in the streets, no longer resembling the people they once were. The survivors wandered aimlessly, not sure where to go. Japan felt ashamed. Why didn't he take America's warnings seriously? After Germany and Italy surrendered, they gave him a chance to follow and save his people from this fate but he refused. Japan decided that he would rather die than surrender. Now he knew that the suffering of his people was due to his own pig-headedness and the very thought made him wish that he was as susceptible to the bomb as a regular human. The only choice he had left was to convince his boss to surrender lest America drop another bomb. Hopefully, his leaders would listen.

AVAVAVAVAV

They didn't. Several days later, another bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. This time, America was not piloting. Instead, he opted to fly the planes full of aides into the destroyed cities after Japan's leaders finally surrendered. The first trip he made was the hardest. He arrived in the wasteland of Hiroshima and stood with General MacArthur in front of a crowd of thousands of Japanese citizens. As he looked out at the faces of the broken people, when he looked them in the eyes, he was reminded shockingly and painfully of the first man he killed. The expressions, full of fear, guilt, and a plea for mercy, haunted America.

After the war officially ended and Japan's occupation ceased, America left the Air needed to take a break from flying.

**Author's note:**

**Fun Fact History Time! The very first person formally executed in the American colony was actually the guy in the beginning of this chapter, which is why I decided to use him. Kinda creepy if you ask me.-.- Also, I have claimed artistic license on America flying the plane to Hiroshima. This is obviously not what happened in real life. If you or a loved one is personally offended by this, you should really get your priorities straight.**

**I like to think that Japan in the present day has more or less forgiven America for the bombing, while America has yet to forgive himself. I say this because in the U.S., there is still a lot of collective guilt over the bombs and plenty of debate over its justification (if any) while in Japan (or so I've heard) the bombs are not really a huge deal anymore.**

**Once again, if you have any chapter suggestions (or questions for that matter) leave them in the comments!**


	6. Chapter 6

1961

America stood on the doorstep of large house. He was bundled up in several layers of clothing because, even though it was spring time, the air was extremely cold. America hated the cold. It reminded him of the winters he encountered in his early years first as a colony, then as a nation.

The young man held up his gloved fist to the door, but before he could knock, he lowered it again.

_What am I doing? _he asked himself, _This is insane!_

For the third time in the past five minutes, America turned to leave.

_C'mon_, _you can do this._

Before he had a chance to change his mind again, America rushed to the door and knocked loudly. He could hear the sound echoing through the house and he held his breath as he waited for the door to open. Or for him to be shot at, whichever came first.

After a while, America relaxed a bit, grateful for a reason to leave. As he turned around for the last time however, the door creaked open. America sheepishly smiled at the tall, violet-eyed man standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" Russia asked. His voice was flat and his face was impossible to read.

America cleared his throat. "I, uh, wanted to talk. You know, about things." _About things? What the hell does that mean?_

"What kind of things?" Russia questioned, his eyebrow raised.

"Nothing bad!" America assured quickly, "I mean, not anything about our leaders or politics or stuff like that. Just… you know, personal things. I have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind."

Russia continued to stare at the flustered nation. "What makes you think I'm going to trust you?"

"You did during the civil war," America pointed out hopefully, "Mine, I mean. You helped me out at least. That means you trusted me at _some_ point, right?"

Russia smirked. "That may be true, but unfortunately, supporting is _not _the same as trusting."

"It works both ways then," America retorted, "Our bosses don't like each other, and we're not supposed to like each other, but that doesn't mean we can't trust each other. Look! I'm unarmed. You can check me." He opened his coat to show the Russian his lack of weapons.

"You are a complete idiot," Russia said with a smile, "I think that's pretty funny. You can come in." He opened the door wider. After America entered, he slammed it shut and locked a series of large deadbolts.

America followed Russia down a long, dark hallway. Even though they were inside, the freezing air sent shivers down his back. America buttoned up his coat and quickened his pace to keep up with the long strides of the Russian. Eventually, the two Nations entered a room. It was dimly lit by a table lamp that sat atop a desk on one side of the room, which America guessed was some sort of study. On the other side, there were two chairs facing each other, a coffee table between them. Russia gestured for America to sit in one of the chairs, and the younger Nation complied. He then sat in the other and waited patiently for America to speak.

"Ahem, so… uh, you just sent a guy into space, right?" America shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes," Russia replied with a smirk, "What is your point?"

"Well, I'm sure that you have had a chance to talk to him since he came back down…"

Russia nodded slowly.

"And I bet that he told you all about the trip."

"Yes, he did."

"So, I just wanted to ask you… Oh, god, this is embarrassing… I wanted to ask you what it was like. You know, up there?"

Russia's smile left his face. He remained quiet for a long time. America began to think that his coming there was not the best idea. Soon, however, Russia stood up and walked slowly to the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a manila folder. As he stomped heavily back towards America's chair, the younger Nation fixed his eyes on the envelope. Russia sat down and handed the folder to America, gesturing for him to open it. Out from inside of the envelope, America pulled out a photograph. It was a shot of something America had never seen before.

"What is it?" he whispered in awe.

"That," Russia stated matter-of-factly, "is the planet earth from space. I figured you would have seen something like this before, considering it was _your_ space program that started sending up cameras."

"I haven't been involved in any of that since…the war ended. You know, the big one." America held the photo closer to his face. "So this is what the world looks like?"

Russia smiled, genuinely for once. "Do you know what my favorite part about it is?"

America looked at him and shrugged.

"There are no borders. Everybody is one."

"With Russia," America finished expectantly.

But to his surprise, the Nation shook his head. "No. Not with Russia. Not with anyone in particular. Just…with each other."

Russia stared off into space with a sad smile. America wasn't sure how to respond.

"When Yuri came back," Russia continued, "he told me how beautiful the world was. He said we should spend our time protecting it rather than destroying it."

America looked down. He had certainly spent more time breaking down the earth than building it up. "He's right," America said softly, "We should."

"If we are in agreement, comrade," Russia said cheerfully, "then I propose a pact. Let us agree to set aside the hatred of our leaders and disallow the petty wars between them to stand in the way of friendship."

America's face brightened up considerably. "Let's agree to support each other through thick and thin and stand united together!"

"As one!"

"For mankind, not for a single man!"

America laughed as Russia clapped him on the back. "Come, America! We should celebrate this agreement over drinks. I have plenty of vodka."

"Oh, um, that's great and all, but I don't really drink a whole lot."

"Nonsense! Vodka is for everyone!"

"Okay, if you say so…"

AVAVAVAVAVAVAVAV

July 20, 1969

All across the world, millions of households were tuned in on news coverage of a very important event. In one particular countryside home in Virginia, a large number of culturally diverse people were gathered. America had decided to celebrate this happy occasion in the best way he knew how: by throwing a party with a couple (hundred) of his friends. Most of Europe was there, along with good sized chunks of the Americas and Asia. Oceania mingled with Africa and even the micronations were acknowledged. America was beginning to consider it his most successful party yet, however the absence of several particular Nations prevented him from doing so.

"Hey America," called Poland, "where's Liet?"

"I was sure to invite him," America answered.

"He's probably just running late," Hungary replied to the green-eyed Nation.

"Liet's, like, never late. He's totally got a _huge_ stick up his butt."

"Well, I just hope he doesn't miss the landing," America worried out loud.

Fortunately, just a few minutes later, the doorbell rang and America invited in three relieved-looking Baltic states as well as a cheerful Ukraine and a permanently pissed Belarus. After dodging Poland, Lithuania quickly pulled America aside.

"Mr. America, please," he rattled, "I tried to talk him out of coming, but he insisted…"

"Wait, slow down," America patted his shoulder, "Who insisted?"

"Russia!" Lithuania gasped just as the large Nation lumbered through the doorway. Almost everyone stopped what they were doing to gawk at the unexpected arrival.

"Oh, _him._"

"I'm very sorry."

"Don't be. I invited him." America left Lithuania baffled as he walked over to greet his newest guest. True to his nature, America remained oblivious to the bewildered stares and whispered gossip that arose throughout the room.

The puzzlement of the Nations, however, almost instantly dissolved as the TV anchorman announced the beginning of what would be one of the most famous newscasts in history. The Nations all swarmed around America's tiny television. On screen, shaky footage of an aircraft approaching barren ground appeared. The crowded room was silent except for the voices of the people on TV and the excited and hushed translations of some of the Nations to their friends who spoke no English.

The aircraft moved closer and closer to the ground. Soon it was only a hundred feet above…then only seventy five…then forty…until…

"Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."

The house erupted into cheers as everyone took turns hugging and clapping each other's backs. Every single Nation present was giddy with excitement. Alcohol sloshed onto the floor as sloppy toasts were made. Even the Nations like Romano, who claimed that the whole thing was clearly faked, cracked smiles. All current political situations were forgotten in that moment of celebration.

Soon, however, everyone became quiet once more as the footage changed to that of a man in a bulky space suit climbing out of the aircraft. The Nations were captivated by each of his clumsy steps down the ladder of the craft. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man's heavy boot touched the ground.

"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."

If the noise level before was considered loud, what happened next was deafening. Shouts of joy in every language imaginable rang through the air. Some of the more emotional Nations grabbed their closest friends and loved ones and sobbed with happiness.

Everyone shared the excitement with one another. The landing was not seen as a feat performed by only one man from one nation. Rather, it was seen as something to be celebrated as an accomplishment of all people, past and present.

In between the congratulatory words of his closest friends, America glanced through the crowd and met the gaze of a smiling Russia. America smiled back and both Nations nodded knowingly. Then, to the surprised delight of the Nations surrounding him, Russia pulled out a large bottle of vodka from his coat. He made his way across the room filling glasses held in outstretched hands. When he reached America, the younger nation passed him a glass. Russia filled it up and handed it back. America shook his head.

"None for me, thanks," he protested, "Remember last time?"

"Oh, forget about that," Russia insisted, "That was years ago! And now is a time for celebration!"

"Okay, fine." America took the cup and gave another to Russia. The two men raised their glasses in unison.

"I propose a toast!" America shouted. All of the other Nations cheered and lifted their glasses as well. "To mankind!"

"To mankind!" they all repeated.

Everyone downed their glasses. America gagged and coughed much to the amusement of his friends. "Oh, god!" he sputtered, "That tastes like rubbing alcohol!"

Russia laughed out loud. "It's an acquired taste."

"And I knew what it was like, too! How did I let you talk me into this again?"

"Drink more! You have to get used to it."

"No way! I'm not falling for that again!"

Russia chased America around the room, trying to get him to drink more vodka. Soon other Nations joined in, and everyone was laughing. For the time being, all thoughts of war and hate were forgotten leaving only a strong bond of friendship. And for a brief moment in time, all of the Nations stood together, united as one.

**Author's note:**

**So this chapter is obviously about the Space Race. During the Cold War, the US and the USSR were competing to see who could outspend each other when it came to space exploration. The Americans were the first to send up cameras to take pictures from space, but the Soviets were the first to send up a person. Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space, is quoted with the words: "Orbiting Earth in the spaceship, I saw how beautiful our planet is. People, let us preserve and increase this beauty, not destroy it!" **

**Wise words indeed, Mr. Gagarin.**

**The US was the first to send a manned space flight to the moon. The live footage of the landing was broadcasted all over the world and translated into hundreds of different languages. It was the most viewed footage worldwide in history. Most people saw it as not a victory for the Americans, but as a victory for the whole world.**

**Neil Armstrong's famous quote has a lot of debate behind it. Some people argue that instead of saying "one small step for a man" it was actually "one small step for man" rendering the whole sentence redundant and useless. If you listen to the video, you can't really hear the "a", but Armstrong insists that he said it, so that is the version I used in this chapter.**

**Thank you to those who have continued to read this story! **


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